Bad Santa

Episode 9 – The Dark Voice

The abandoned house groaned as wind pressed against its broken windows. The Cooper triplets crouched in the dark, their breaths shallow, hearts pounding. Somewhere in the silence, boots thudded on old floorboards, steady and deliberate. A cane tapped once, twice, echoing like a heartbeat.

“Ho… Ho… Ho…” Santa’s voice slithered through the hallways, cruel and mocking. “You naughty boys burned my factory. You destroyed my life’s work. Did you think there would be no price?”

Denny clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his whimper. Eddy pulled his brothers close, whispering, “Stay quiet. Don’t move.”

But Santa moved like a predator, guided not by sight but by something deeper—the pull of their guilt. His glowing eyes cut through the shadows.

A sudden scream tore through the silence. Lenny was yanked from their corner, dragged down the hall before his voice vanished into nothingness.

“Lenny!” Denny cried, lunging forward, but Eddy yanked him back. “No! Stay hidden!”

They scrambled apart, desperation driving them into different hiding places. Denny squeezed himself into a creaking wardrobe, trembling as the wood pressed around him. Eddy slid under a rotting bed, the dust choking his lungs as he pressed his face to the floor.

Santa’s boots creaked closer. His cane scraped the boards. “Little Denny… I can smell your fear.”

The wardrobe door burst open. Denny’s scream echoed, cut short as he was dragged away into the shadows.

Eddy was alone. Tears streaked his face, his fists clenched in despair. Then he heard it—the voice, not Santa’s, but the one that had haunted his dreams.

“Run, Eddy. Save yourself. Leave them behind, just as they left you. You don’t need them. You’ve always been alone.”

“No,” Eddy whispered.

“Yes. Alone. Forgotten. Even your grandmother resents you. Even your father never came. Why should you suffer for them? Let them burn. Let the world burn.”

Eddy crawled out from under the bed, his small body trembling but his eyes blazing with defiance. “No! Leave them alone, you monster!” he shouted. His voice cracked, but it rang through the broken house.

Santa turned, looming in the doorway, his eyes glowing like fire in a furnace. “Monster?” he growled. “I gave everything for children like you. I bled for them. And this is how they repay me. Why should I show mercy?”

Eddy fell to his knees, sobbing. “Because I was wrong! I thought burning your factory would make me matter. I thought destroying it would make someone notice me, even if just to hate me. I only wanted to be seen! To be loved!” His voice broke into raw cries. “Take me instead! Please—don’t hurt them. It was me. It was always me.”

Santa staggered, clutching his cane. His face twisted, warping between rage and sorrow. His voice deepened, echoing with two tones—the man and the monster.

“Yes, kill him,” the dark voice urged. “End the pain. Become what you were born to be.”

“No!” Santa roared, shaking his head. His hands trembled violently. His body bent as if crushed by an unseen weight. His eyes flickered between red and clear, between destroyer and saviour.

And Eddy, sobbing on the floor, whispered the words that pierced the storm.

“I’m sorry. Please… forgive me.”

Santa froze. His breath came ragged, his grip loosening on the cane. For the first time since the fire, he saw not betrayal, but himself—a child crying for love in a world that had none to give.

The house fell silent, holding its breath for the choice he would make.